Insecure
by Winterstorm Maiden
Summary: Bart's growing self-doubt leads him to the one person he never thought he would see again. Rated T.


First Simpsons story. Beta'd by Moony3003.

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Insecure

Half the street lights were out, throwing the road into semi darkness. A lone person wandered along it, stopping in front of house number sixty-six. The residence was dark, all the lights having been extinguished hours ago. It wasn't the first time he'd walked here tonight. And now, the only visible light came from behind it at the prison. The blazing white lights casted deep shadows against the building, giving it a sinister exterior.

A nineteen year old Bart Simpson continued to stare, his eyes going wide at the realisation of what he was about to do. It had been nine years since he'd last seen the man inside. The prison had opened up its metal gates and let him out four years ago but the contact hadn't been re-established. The absence had left a hole; one that he didn't recognise it for what it was.

The silence around him grew and the ticking of his watch became unusually loud as did the beating within his chest. A check of it told him it was a quarter past midnight. At home his parents would be sleeping and Maggie would be still up studying. It was a surprise to him that she turned out more like Lisa than him and it was the thing that finally pushed him into the self-doubt that has hung around since Maggie started school.

But it wasn't the only thing that brought him here tonight. He needed someone to talk to and since Lisa had been accepted into college already, there was no one left. For a fleeting second, Marge floated across his mind but he shook his head to shake it. His mother wasn't a viable option as she told Homer everything and he knew the taunts his father would give him for having 'feelings'.

So it was the reason he now walked along the narrow, concrete path to the door. The pristine condition of the house told him that prison didn't have much effect on his financial situation. He pressed the small white button beside the door and listened to the classical tune of _The Nightingale Sighed_ play which seemed to echo. Bart couldn't suppress the wry smile that tugged at his mouth but it quickly vanished when shuffling sounded on the other side of the front door.

It opened to reveal his arch-nemesis with the palm tree like hair and long defined features. But the fear of his ten year old self didn't rise. Instead he was filled with intrigue and longing. The sight of the older man made the feelings rush to the surface and instantly, Bart again speculated on whether coming here had been a bad idea.

"Hello, Bob," he said flatly.

There was a pause from the other before he spoke. "Hello, Bart." The voice was chillingly familiar. It still had the same hauntingly beautiful resonance that he'd remembered with the velvety tone able to slice deep within him although the contemptible undertone didn't go unnoticed.

"How have you been?"

The question earned Bart a frown and he shifted in his stance, hoping to cover up the strain that was beginning to weigh on him. Without a word, Bob took a step back and silently invited Bart inside. Bart didn't show the relief he felt as he crossed the threshold, the door closing right behind him. He walked down the short hallway, fully aware of the tall presence behind him and he walked into the living room that opened up on the right.

The room pretty much looked as he'd expected. The walls were a muted colour as was the carpet. A beige sofa sat against the back wall with a coffee table just in front with nothing on it but crystal containing alcohol. A matching armchair sat near the corner beside him, a bookshelf sitting behind it with limited space and on the other side stood a grand piano that took up the rest of the space. The only other thing was the fireplace which was the only source of light and heat.

But it soon changed as Bob walked in past him and switched on the light, making Bart blink rapidly for a few seconds, needing to adjust. As Bob put the music sheets away that had been sitting on the piano, Bart looked him over. He was still tall and slender with a slight paunch. The long limbs still moved as gracefully as they did before, each of his movements carefully calculated.

"Have a seat, Bart," said Bob when finished, gesturing towards the sofa.

Bart shuddered as the voice drawling his name washed over him and he swallowed dryly as he walked to the sofa and sat down near the window. There were no curtains which made it easy to see out but as it was so dark there was nothing to see. Bob approached and leaned forward to pick up the crystal goblet on the coffee table. He filled two crystal glasses a quarter of the way and handed one to Bart.

"What brings you here?" asked Bob as he sat in the armchair, keeping a generous distance between them.

Bart made eye contact momentarily at the question but then looked down into the brown contents of his drink. He copied Bob's actions and he swirled it a couple of times before he took a sip. At the first taste he realised it was whiskey and the liquid burned the back of his throat as it went down causing him to cough. He then put the glass on the coffee table, hoping not to cause an accident by drinking anymore.

"I need to talk to someone," admitted Bart.

He waited for the snide remark or even condescending laughter but it never came. Bart met Bob's eye again and saw nothing but a blank facade. The contact broke again as Bart still couldn't hold it and he felt a trace of shame start to fill him.

"Why did you come to me, Bart?" asked Bob. "Surely there are plenty of others that would gladly hear your woes."

"But no one that would listen," countered Bart bitterly. At seeing a look of vague perplexity hit Bob's features he continued. "Lisa's not here, Maggie's too young, Homer's too stupid and Mum… just wouldn't understand."

Bob lingered as he took a second sip of his whiskey. "What of your friends?"

"Are you kidding?" snorted Bart. "They're all dumb, like me. I need someone intelligent. I would also prefer someone I trust but that list gets shorter every year."

"Let's leave the past where it belongs," said Bob in a low voice. "Tell me what's troubling you."

Bart leaned forward, placing both elbows on his knees; he ran his hands through the spiky hair that had grown shaggy and overdue for a cut. "I don't know what to do," said Bart, voice breaking a little. "It started just before I went to high school. At first, I could ignore the feelings but over the years they've grown and I..."

"What kind of feelings?" asked Bob quietly, after Bart trailed off.

"Sexual feelings," confessed Bart in a very soft voice. "For other guys. I had girlfriends when I was younger. It felt right at first and then... I realised that something wasn't right."

In one swift and refined motion Bob rose to his large feet and moved over to the sofa. It dipped slightly with his weight and Bart instantly felt the same apprehension return from when he was standing outside but the source of this one was different. It was mixed with another feeling that had always hung around but it was one that he could never decipher.

"Quite frankly," started Bob with a sigh. "I think you need to accept it."

"Accept what?" asked Bart, meeting the other man's eye again.

"Let's face it, Bart, you've always been obtuse but you're not this stupid," said Bob. "Surely, you understand what your mind and body is trying to tell you?"

"That I'm gay," said Bart unsurely.

"Precisely," said Bob. "There is no reason you couldn't have come to this conclusion on your own."

"But... I've liked girls. Sometimes I still fancy girls," said Bart, frowning. "I thought you would understand. When we ran into you in Italy, you said you had experimented in college and yet, you married a woman."

"I know who I am, Bart," said Bob. "You need to figure out who you are and the only person that can do that is you."

"You make it sound so easy," mumbled Bart.

The resigned development that now shrouded Bart suddenly had Bob fearing that his words had little effect, if any at all.

"Everyone must figure out who they are in order to move forward," said Bob quietly. "No one can do it for you."

The conversation ended as Bob got up from the sofa and left the living room, leaving Bart feeling utterly alone. Deciding to follow, Bart got up and went through the door Bob had. It was the kitchen. The muted colours had even continued into here, extending to the plain, round wooden table and chairs that sat in the centre. The floor was white linoleum that had faint black scuffs on it which Bart guessed was from Bob's black leather footwear.

Bart walked over to the couple of stools that sat underneath the bench and he sat down on one. Bob stood at the sink, with his back to him, as hot water poured from the tap. Bart watched as Bob washed the few dishes before he said anything and as he did, he noticed that the tension from within the living room was gone. He suddenly felt at ease in Bob's presence. He wasn't sure what had changed but something had.

"Need a distraction?" asked Bart with a crooked grin.

"No," came the monotonous reply.

Bart's smile widened. "Where's the missus?"

"In Italy, I presume," said Bob with a slight shrug. "She wanted Gino to have a proper upbringing in his home country. I refused to go back so she went without me."

"Why did you refuse?" asked Bart, leaning forward on the smooth surface of the bench.

"As much as I hate this town, it's still my home," said Bob as he put the last plate on the drying rack.

"I think there's another reason," said Bart.

A disdainful look contorted Bob's face, making the teenager's smile finally disappear. "Don't flatter yourself," muttered Bob.

The ex-con strode back into the living room with ease and Bart quickly followed behind him. In the centre of the room, Bob stopped and turned to face the boy that had tormented and thwarted him for years. Immediately he noticed that Bart was standing close; a little too close. He made to step back but stopped as Bart looked up and met his gaze. For the first time, Bob didn't see him as a little boy.

He was now a man and almost as tall as he was. A faint amount of stubble grazed his jaw line and the smell of him was musky, almost intoxicating. The knowledge of the previously denied hit him square in the face and it made his mind spin with uncontrollable images and unknown desires.

"You once said," began Bart, grabbing Bob's attention, "that you had become accustomed to my face. I think it's mutual."

"I sang it actually," corrected Bob. "Is this what you really came here for? You're already aware of your desires and decided to come here and torment me?"

Bart stood his ground. "No," he said, his voice turning into a whisper. "My life hasn't been the same without you in it and I'm not talking about all the times you tried to kill me. There were other moments too. Like when Cecil tried to blow up the dam, you saved my life that day and like the time someone was trying to kill Homer. It wasn't so bad having you around."

"Yes and if I recall correctly you seemed to enjoy shocking me," commented Bob darkly.

"Maybe," said Bart with a wry smile. "But you can't deny that you wouldn't have done the same if our roles had been reversed."

"Point taken," said Bob flatly.

"Good," said Bart with a genuine smile this time. "Now we can move on to more important things."

Bart lunged, wrapping his arms around Bob's neck as he crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss. It lasted only seconds before Bob pushed Bart clear from him, an expression of shock etched across each line of his face. Bart's eyes were wide as he stared at Bob, clearly surprised by his own actions. Bob gave it a moment before he allowed himself to speak, wanting to choose his words carefully.

"I don't think this is something you really want, Bart," murmured Bob in a low tone.

"I've… I've been…" stuttered Bart, unable to complete a coherent sentence.

In silence, Bob watched as Bart's emotions seemed to overwhelmed him. The light heartedness from within the kitchen was gone. Pain etched into his young features before he turned his back on him, throwing both arms up over his head, his hands running through his spiky hair.

"I always convinced myself that I liked girls, that I was normal," admitted Bart, his voice pained and almost inaudible. "I wanted to be normal, just like all of my friends. But I always catch myself looking elsewhere. The other night I was looking at… a couple of guys… you know, on the internet. I felt excited by it and so ashamed. I-"

Bart's rambling abruptly ended when a large, pale hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump and spin around. The comforting hand disappeared and he looked up at Bob. He felt a hot tear escape down his cheek and he wiped it away hastily at seeing something unexpected. The only expression on Bob's face was sympathy and it only made Bart feel worse.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," said Bob. "There are plenty of different people out there; straight, gay, bi, asexual. Ignore the labels and ignore what you think other people might say about you. You need to do what's right for you."

"How will I know?" asked Bart, still gazing at the others face.

"Give it time," said Bob.

Silence quickly came between them and Bob quickly wondered if perhaps there was more he could do or say to comfort the younger man. There was a time in his life when these difficult questions tackled him. It took years but he knew who he was now. The gauntlet of emotions that Bart has already gone through tonight were astounding. Bob was a little surprised that he was functioning at all if it was always like this.

"So… what label do you give yourself?" asked Bart, breaking the silence.

"I'm bisexual, Bart," said Bob honestly. "As you pointed out, my college experience and marriage to a woman. I know who I am."

Bart exhaled heavily, feeling somewhat relieved despite nothing being resolved. "I don't know what to do."

"I'm going to help you, Bart," said Bob in an even voice. "But just let me say that falling for me isn't something you want."

"Why?" asked Bart curiously.

"Bart, do you remember when you were ten?" asked Bob. "All the times I tried to kill you? I can't imagine wanting to be close to the man who tried to murder me, in any sense. I wouldn't even want to be alone with him. And yet, you came here with all your percieved problems, alone, at night and hit on me."

Despite the events of the evening, Bart managed a smile. "If you still wanted to kill me you'd have done it already. Besides, you're not a bad looking man."

"Hmm…" hummed Bob.

"So, how are you going to help me?" asked Bart, his smile faltering slightly.

Without a word Bob took Bart's hand and led him out of the living room, passed the door and to the staircase. When Bart looked up he saw nothing but darkness at the top. Bob walked up ahead of him, pulling him along. For the first time in a long while a familiar fear rose up within Bart's chest and he pulled back against Bob's hand but it didn't break the contact.

"Do not worry, Bart," said Bob, his drawling, arrogant voice returning. "As you've already pointed out; if I wanted to kill you, you would be dead right now. We're going to my bedroom and we're going to have a nice, little chat."

"I hope we do more than that," said Bart, wanting to trust him.

"We'll see, Bart," said Bob, smiling. "We'll see."


End file.
